The Dagger and the Shield
by ToffeeAndTea
Summary: Katrina has lived a life of sin and secrets that she can't quite walk away from. When she almost costs an Avenger their life, she not only loses her status in the world—but she also gains the world's most determined bounty hunter. When they finally clash, the results are a lot more surprising than either of them could ever expect. Maybe opposites do attract...
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hey guys! So this is my first fanfic ever and I'm really excited to see where it goes! It takes place before Cap 2. I don't own any Marvel characters or the MCU. Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think :)**

* * *

 **Prologue**

The sun dried the little girl's tears as she aimlessly wandered along the American coast of Miami. Her mind was a whirlpool of thoughts; ones she didn't even understand herself. _Where is Mama? Papa?_ Papa was suppose to show her how to fly a kite today. The little girl scowled, thinking of the mermaid themed kite with silver ribbons sitting on her dresser at home. Oh, if Papa didn't keep his promise…

Her anger swiftly subsided as she called out again. "Mama?" But she was only met with the response of the ocean gushing a fresh wave along her feet. The little girl's lip quivered, and she fearfully wondered where her parents were. Did they leave her? Did they hate her?

She didn't want her parents to hate her.

All of the sudden, the ocean let out a roar and a new wave crashed onto her, so big that it engulfed her completely. The little girl's balance was off put immediately and she stumbled, then fell. The salty water surrounded her completely, strangling her. She choked, gasped, did anything she could for air. But the more she struggled, the harder the struggle became. Her vision went blank and she closed her eyes, because the water started to burn them. She clawed at the sand, trying to find anything she could grip for support. She failed, and ended up grabbing at nothing, because the sand just went along with her, sweeping her out to sea.

 _This is not what being a mermaid is like._

Her parents never taught her to swim—at least not yet. The little girl knew that they had planned to. For this very reason. But they hadn't, and now she was going to die.

 _Another promise her parents didn't keep._

The little girl tried screaming, but immediately regretted it when her lungs filled with water, and she started drowning even more. She thrashed and flailed, and felt herself slipping downwards. She panicked even more, because her parents taught her that the more downwards the sand gets, the deeper the ocean becomes.

The little girl's mind started to become fuzzy, and with every second, she struggled a little less. Her arms faltered, her face relaxed, her body stiffened. All she could think about was her parents. Why didn't they save her? Was this a punishment? Did they not love her anymore? Were they…

They little girl floated underwater motionlessly for a few seconds, eyes closed, until a pair of hands reached into the water, locked under her arms, and lifted her from the water, ruining her life forever.

* * *

When she heard the Red Drill, Katrina's body stiffened. She let out a noise a mixture between a groan and a huff. She sat up from her awkward laying position on her bed, and went to lace up her black boots. She grabbed her knife and sheathed it.

Katrina started to make her way down to the General's office, joining other fellow comrades as she did so. No one rushed; they knew it was pointless to do so. When Katrina and her comrades went into their first couple missions, the Red Drill had meant crisis to them. They had rushed into their General's office within a minute, only to learn that he was sending them into combat with frivolous objectives, such as blowing up a government energy department building simply because one of the owners had "lost a bet."

However, over the years, their missions had gotten more serious. Things like assassinating the Secretary of State to infiltrating S.H.E.I.L.D's data bases. That mission had been one of the more threatening assignments so far. Though missions against S.H.I.E.L.D had been carried out for years, Katrina had only been on one because they were so infrequent. And they were infrequent because they were all unsuccessful. S.H.I.E.L.D had extremely strong security measures. Katrina sometimes felt that the only way to bring them down would be infiltration from the inside.

Katrina didn't speak as her closest friend joined her, Aaron. Aaron was as close as a "friend" here could get. He arrived just two years after Katrina did, and Katrina and him had had a particular affinity with each other since then. Comrades weren't allowed to speak to one another unless it was for crucial matters or they were on missions, but nonetheless, Katrina and Aaron had always taken each other under their wing. Inside, they both secretly thought it was because they both had similar pasts. Both without families, waking up from an unconscious state while knowing nothing of what had happened previously. They had both been young children when they had been brought here, so they wouldn't have remembered anyways. They were the few lucky ones out of the assemblage. After years of high-level spying and observance, Katrina was sure that the people who either remembered their past from a young age, or came at an older age old enough to remember, had two options. One, be kept safe here but be put under permanent probation from speaking about their previous life—or two, resist and be executed. Katrina had witnessed new people that had been brought in who never made it to training.

Katrina and her fellow comrades' faces were grim as they entered their General's office. The door was left slightly ajar and a comrade pushed it open before they all entered in one precise line. They stood adjacent to the General's desk, backs facing the wall. The General let out a gruff grunt and stood up, straightening his back. He made his way to his comrades, and stood facing them with his arms behind his back.

"I have a new mission for you." This was no surprise. He had rung the Red Drill, which was he drill used to assemble comrades for new missions. "There is a warehouse up north in Dover which I need you to seize. The warehouse has access to nuclear explosives. I need you to get me those explosives."

Katrina's eyebrows slightly creased. _Why are there nuclear explosives just sitting in a warehouse? Where would they go? And more importantly, why does the General need them?_

Katrina quickly wiped these thoughts from her mind. It didn't matter. Her only priority was fulfilling the General's orders.

"I'm only sending fifty of our best comrades to go," the General continued. "It is crucial for this to go smoothly and obscurely, so sending everyone would cause too much disturbance. The main goal is to cause a diversion, so you can get into the warehouse, hack into the security systems, and _get me those bombs_." The General's voice became alarmingly aggressive, and although some of the newer comrades flinched, Katrina remained unaffected. She was used to his sudden belligerent change of attitude.

Katrina listened carefully to the General's further orders, and within minutes, Katrina, Aaron, and forty-eight other comrades were sent out the door and to the Deportation Room. The Deportation Room was basically just a large room that consisted of ample amounts of mission essentials. The supplies consisted of a wide range of guns, knives, grenades, bullet proof vests, poisons, crossbows…anything and everything.

Katrina knew she was best at hand-to-hand combat, so she decided to skip out on any crossbows or guns, except for her sleek shotgun that was given to her a few years ago. After several years of training and buildup of trust, every comrade received their own individual gun when they reached the level of a 'high status' and became High Statuses. So Katrina shoved her gun into her belt, and decided to throw in a few grenades and other small devices in her belt just in case.

With everyone's vests and belts on, Katrina and the rest of her comrades sat in the plane in silence. No one cared enough to speak. No one would even know what to speak about. Most of them had been torn from civilization for so long they didn't even know basic communication skills. Tension and awkwardness circulated throughout the plane.

The quietness gave Katrina a chance to sink into her thoughts. _Nuclear bombs? Since_ when _have people thought keeping nuclear bombs in such plain sight would be a smart idea? And since when have people been acting as if nuclear bombs give them some sort of power dynamic?_

 _Well, nuclear bombs_ do _give power, nonetheless. There's no denying that._

 _Power that's essentially useless. Power that can wipe out millions, billions at a time. You'd probably end up killing yourself or at least someone you care about._

 _It doesn't matter._

 _People being killed doesn't matter?_

 _General's orders. Whatever he says, goes. It's not our concern on why he needs them._

 _That's not right._

 _It doesn't matter to you, okay? Shut the hell up and just do your job. It doesn't matter._

 _It doesn't matter._

The mission was still dangerous though. One wrong step from anyone and millions, including them, could all be dead in seconds. Now Katrina knew she wasn't going to do anything that would jeopardize the plan. She didn't want to be cocky, but she was one of the best soldiers working for DAGGER. Nothing could really go wrong in her part.

And if things did, she didn't even want to think about what would be done to her. Not only her, actually, but any of them. The only time in history a major mishap had happened in one of DAGGER's missions was in 2007. Katrina hadn't been a High Status yet, she had just been a midlevel comrade, and even though it was years ago, she could still remember it very clearly.

A group of High Statuses had been sent out to Ukraine on a discrete trip. Katrina wasn't sure exactly why, soldiers weren't allowed to be given any information on missions that weren't theirs—but after some snooping, she figured out that it had to do with some high-tech, dangerous intel the Ukrainian government had been storing, and that the General wanted for himself.

Katrina wasn't sure whether the comrades had been successful, but she was sure they had done at least some damage, because Ukraine had sent out some of their own soldiers and mercenaries back to the DAGGER headquarters, following the comrades home. They killed dozens of people at the base, stole weapons and tech, bombed part of the building…the whole situation had been a mess. And by the end of it all, most of them had fled, but DAGGER had managed to capture five of them. Katrina remembered their names and faces perfectly; it was like they'd been burned into her mind.

Petro Balanchuk had been one of the younger ones. He was a short, stout little man, probably in his twenties, and had the nastiest smile one could imagine. Katrina remembered walking past all of them in the hallway that led to the east wing. She had been sent to fetch a spare crossbow because there hadn't been enough for their training session. Aleksei Demko was another Ukrainian soldier, nothing else much about him except for the fact that he had looked absolutely petrified the whole time he was here. Katrina had assumed he was new to the job.

The other three were mercenaries. None of them had Ukrainian names, let alone knew how to speak Ukrainian. There was Noah Lang, who was the big and burly one. Katrina tried not to think of him because all she could remember about him was the terrifying scar where his left eye had once been. It led her to think about what could happen to her on one of these missions. Especially this one, going into a warehouse full of bombs. One slipup and her left eye—and entire face—could be gone too. The second mercenary was Lance Hunter. Katrina remembered the most about him, probably because he was the one who spoke the most. He had a British accent and had quite a sarcastic attitude. He never answered questions properly, always rebutting a question with his own question. There was a point in the conversation where he just answered every single question with "ask Bob." That's what he would say. "Ask Bob, ask Bob." He was almost at the point of being shot. Katrina wondered whether he had a few screws loose in his head by the end of his trial. And last but not least was Alec Summer, a former American marine, who had become a mercenary later on.

A few days into their confinement, Katrina wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but someone didn't lock them in properly, or wasn't watching them carefully enough, because before anyone knew it, they had all skillfully managed to escape, without leaving any sign of where or how. The comrades that had been watching them were executed.

How did Katrina know all this? She was curious. She wanted to know about other people, people from the outside world. She was sick of being kept in this god forsaken facility. So after hours of planning, she had maneuvered her way into the vents leading into the room where their trials had taken place. Was it dangerous? Extremely. Could she have been caught? Definitely. Could she have been killed? Absolutely. Did she know this? For sure. Did she care? No.

When the plane landed, Katrina had been so deep in her thoughts that she didn't realize the rest of her comrades were getting out until Aaron elbowed her head. She blinked once, twice, then she stood up hastily and followed Aaron out the door and down the ramp. She looked around. The warehouse was big. Really big. The bombs must be hidden somewhere deep, like in the basement. She thought moment, then informed the rest of her comrades of a plan she just constructed in her thoughts a second ago. Her partners all nodded, listening carefully. Most of had been here for less of a time than Katrina, and even if they hadn't, they were less experienced. When no one else was there, she had to play the leadership role for them, telling them what to do. Everyone usually obliged, knowing that she knew best.

Katrina had assigned people to what she knew they were best at. She told their best shots to stand at the perimeter and shoot at anyone that tried to come in, she sent people who she knew were best at hacking to go find their intel rooms, and so on. She herself was going to scout the building and try to locate the bombs. And kill anyone who got in her way.

Katrina, Aaron, and about twenty other comrades snuck their way into the building, separating from the rest. They had gotten in through an emergency exit. Katrina found it a little strange how they had gotten in so easily. It was almost like someone had been expecting them…

 _Ridiculous._

If the warehouse looked big on the outside, it certainly didn't show it on the inside. Everything seemed like it was constricted, because the entire place was constructed of just walls as hallways. As they all entered they faced no room, just one long hallway that had different doors leading into their own rooms throughout it. Katrina didn't like the layout of the place at all. It made it harder for her to find things, harder to chase people, harder to escape in times where she didn't have much time. And it also made it a lot easier for the bombs to be hidden in a place she couldn't find them.

"Everyone split up," Katrina said authoritatively, her voice a powerful contrast against the silence of the hallway. "If you find something, or need help, you know what to do. Alert your ringer." Everyone who went on a mission was required to take a ringer before they left. Ringers were little devices that attached to everyone's belt and alarmed for various reasons. The ringers had little screens attached to them that showed them the layout of the area. If someone was in need, their location popped up on the screen, as well as a route on how to get there. The ringers were honestly a blessing. Katrina could remember countless times where the mission had been saved last minute because of a ringer.

The rest of the comrades nodded in agreement, and Katrina was first to part from the group. _Basement, basement, basement…the bombs_ must _be in the basement._ As Katrina walked along the hallway, she noticed how eerily quiet it was. There was no one working, no one guarding…what kind of place was this? They stored nuclear weaponsand they weren't even monitoring the place? Something didn't seem right.

As Katrina walked, she passed a door labeled _Security Room_. Were there people in there? Katrina hesitated. Should she go in? She thought for a moment. If there were people in there, she should go in first. She should get them before they get her. So Katrina opened the door. And she was right; there were people inside. Each one pointing a gun directly at her.

Katrina wasn't even given a second to process anything, but she didn't need one. In a second she was charging at the people, and when one of them shot at her, she ducked, somersaulting while running, got back up on her feet again, and slammed right into several of the guards. They were all in the same blue uniform, so pinpointing them was easy. One of the guards swung at her, and she caught his hand, punching him square in the jaw. She kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying and slamming into the wall.

Katrina backed up against the wall so she could clearly see what she was up against. There was about five of them. _Easy._ They all had guns, so there wasn't any point in trying to take them each down by hand. Any one of them could shoot her from behind. So Katrina pulled out her gun, and shot at the closest guard. He immediately fell to the ground, and the other guards advanced on her, shooting in the process. Katrina ducked and twisted and avoided all the shots, but she grabbed a chair from next to her and hurled it as hard as she could at the guards. It hit one, sending him to the floor as well. All of this happened within seconds.

And within a minute, the rest of the guards were motionless on the floor as well. It was when the last one hit the floor when the alarms started blaring. Katrina cursed under breath. She ran out the room, and unlike a few minutes ago, the hallways were flooding with people. Some were comrades, fighting alongside one another, others were guards and people who worked there. Katrina decided she didn't have any time to lose, so she sprinted along the hallway, avoiding gunshots and having to attack some people along the way. Katrina hated the way the building was designed even more now. Every turn was more confusing than the last, every dead end making her want to rip her hair out.

All of the sudden, she heard a voice.

"We have to put an emergency lock down on the basement. If they're here to raid us, then we sure as hell can't let them get to the basement. You know what?" Two men rushed around the corner. Katrina quickly concealed herself behind one of the large bars attached to the ceiling. Her jaw clenched. He spoke about the basement. The man continued, stopping the other man with a hand on the arm. "I'll go to the basement, lock it down, and you head to the intel station on one eighty-four, and shut down access to all computers on the entire first three floors."

Katrina didn't see what happened next, but when the man started moving again, she quietly stepped from the corner. She was right. The bombs were in the basement. She just had to follow him. The man hurriedly scurried away, and Katrina followed him as discretely as she could. As she waited for him to turn the corner to follow him, it was then Katrina realized that there was no ruckus in this area of the building. They must be deep in. Where was he taking her? This warehouse did do a good job of concealing the weapons.

And at last, the man stopped, opened one of the doors, and started descending down a flight of stairs. Katrina breathed a sigh of relief through her nose. She walked over to the edge of the door way and peeked through the door to make sure he was fully downstairs. Then she started descending down the stairs herself.

Once she stepped into the basement, she looked around. It was quiet, unlike upstairs. She stepped away from the stairs and started walking. Unlike the rest of the building, there weren't many hallways here. Currently she was in a big cement room with dozens of different pipes attached to the walls and ceiling. And there were boxes. A lot of large, wooden boxed neatly stacked on top of each other throughout the room. They were all nailed shut.

 _This must be it._

Katrina walked through the maze of boxes and crates, until she stepped through to another corner of the room. She didn't expect another person to be there waiting for her. Katrina's breathing stopped.

Were her eyes deceiving her?

She had heard stories about this person, seen articles about this person, seen interviews on this person... They were a living legend to everyone within the intelligence community.

Katrina's mind was a whirlpool of thoughts, some confused, some shocked, some amazed. And when the person smiled, Katrina realized that this wasn't her mind playing tricks on her. No…this person was here, in the flesh, standing right in front of her.

The Black Widow.


	2. Chapter 2

Katrina stood there, motionless, afraid to make any sound, as if the Black Widow were a bomb that could be triggered at any moment. Her heart and mind raced. She was going to die, wasn't she?

"You don't have to be scared of me, you know." The Black Widow raised her eyebrows. Her voice was calm, steady, almost musical sounding. Yet the deadliness of it was hard to miss.

Katrina didn't respond. What could she say? _Oh, well thanks for that, Nat. I'm definitely not terrified anymore. Let's go hold hands and run into a rainbow together._

Black Widow took a step forward, and Katrina took a step back. Okay, she had to be smart about this. She was going to have to fight her no matter what, she knew that. But was she strong enough to take on Black Widow? Maybe.

 _Absolutely not._

Right. Katrina calculated her next moves in her head. If she couldn't fight the Black Widow, then…

Wait. That's not her name.

 _That's not her name._

 _Her name is Natasha Romanoff._

Katrina looked back up at Natasha. Then she smiled. Natasha stared her down, slightly amused, yet slightly confused.

Katrina panic slowly faded away, and her heartbeat steadied. She'd always thought of the Black Widow as this mythical creature, this force of energy, this unstoppable _being_ , but—

She was just a person. Strong, yes, but just like the rest of them. And yes, she'd been through things most other people hadn't been through, but so had Katrina.

 _I can do this._

And without a moment of hesitation, words danced on her tongue.

"I'm not."

And then she started running. Natasha also started charging at her, prepared to meet at the middle, but Katrina hit the ground and slid in between Natasha's legs at the last second. She threw her legs in the air, willing herself to flip herself. And a second later after Natasha slid to a stop, Katrina shifted her body weight to the left so her legs went swinging right at Natasha's face. Natasha didn't stumble, but she did look startled for a second. Katrina landed smoothly on her feet and Natasha's fist came at her like a bullet. Katrina took the hit, and unlike Natasha, stumbled.

 _I can do this._

But Natasha just kept punching her. First in the face, then the gut, then the stomach. Katrina thought she almost blacked out for a second. By about the tenth hit, Katrina grabbed Natasha's arm and twisted it as hard as she could. Natasha's other fist came flying at her, but surprisingly, Katrina caught that one too. With both of Natasha's hands in the air, Katrina kneed her as hard as she could in the stomach. Natasha doubled over just a little bit, and Katrina swung her leg and kicked her on the hip. With the force of the kick, Natasha flew a little bit to the side, but instead of crashing against the wall, she grabbed Katrina's shoulders and swung around her. Startled, Katrina tried to throw her off, but instead came into contact with a fist to her face. She coughed hard.

With all the force she could muster, Katrina threw her off, and Natasha staggered a few feet back. Katrina started running in the other direction. She looked behind her. Natasha was right on her heels. Boxes were everywhere so Katrina began zig-zagging through them, and as she jumped over a smaller one, she thought of a stupidly brilliant idea. In a moment of adrenaline, she grabbed a box stacked on top of another box, and threw it on the ground between her and Natasha,

Natasha's face immediately crumpled into horror. "No, don't—!"

Katrina's own face instantly turned horrified itself. _Sh—_

The box hit the ground and exploded in a fiery blast, sending flames rocketing in every direction.

They were both blown off their feet, thrown in opposite directions. Katrina smashed into a wall and slid down it, hitting the ground hard. Her body screamed in protest, especially when it was pelted by burning hot bits of wood and metal. She ducked and covered her eyes, shielding them, coughing from the smoke billowing around her. Then she looked up.

 _Oh thank god._

The explosion hadn't been _too_ big. The building was still standing. But that had been so stupid of her. What if that box had contained one of the nuclear bombs? Not just this whole building but the whole _city_ would have been gone. And then that bomb would have triggered the rest of the bombs…

She stood up on slightly shaky legs and wiped away the wood from her clothes. Smoke still curled all around the room and the smell of ash and burning wood filled her nose. Natasha was already standing. And her eyes looked dangerous. She didn't move. When her mouth opened, out came the most threatening voice Katrina had ever heard—even more threatening than the General's.

"It's time for you to go."

 _Nope._

It was at this point Katrina knew it was flight instead of fight. She was so dumb for thinking she could take on Natasha Romanoff. In a second, she was running as fast as she could away from Natasha. She didn't think about anything else besides the fact that she had to _get out_.

Natasha thundered after Katrina. As Katrina ran, she wondered what was going on upstairs. Hopefully everything was going well. But now they would have to evacuate. Immediately. However, Katrina didn't know how they would get away from Natasha. It would be impossible. And what if Natasha called in reinforcements? What if the rest of the Avengers came thundering in? Katrina knew that if they wanted to get away, they needed Natasha Romanoff gone.

But obviously, fighting her wasn't an option. And neither was outrunning her and locking her out. Natasha was too fast for that. Katrina needed Natasha to be completely useless.

 _How could I do that?_

Katrina was nearing the stairs by now. Her gaze was sharp, focusing directly on the things she was whizzing past.

 _Boxes. There are a lot of boxes._

But Katrina knew she couldn't open another box. She didn't know how highly explosive these bombs were.

 _I can't open the boxes, so…_

The boxes are full of bombs and grenades. Things that blew up. Things that a person was potentially defenseless against. There hadn't been any way Natasha could've prevented Katrina from throwing that exploding box.

 _That's it._

Again, another foolish idea popped into Katrina's brain. And she knew it was foolish. But it was the only way she could get rid of Natasha.

There were cement pillars on either side of Katrina every five feet or so. The pillars were connected from both the floor and ceiling, obviously used to support the rest of the building from collapsing. Katrina was even closer to the stairs now. She had limited time. Natasha was right on her heels. If she had to act, she had to act now.

Katrina reached into her belt and held a small grenade in each hand. She pinpointed the next pillar she was going to pass. With all the energy she could muster, she willed herself to move faster, and accelerated. She was slowly outrunning Natasha. She was about ten feet ahead of her now.

This could either go very well or very terribly. But she was trained. She knew what she was doing. Right as she was next to the pillar, in a second, she had a grenade aimed at one of the connecting points, and threw. At the impact of the cement, the grenades both triggered, and exploded. The pillar disconnected at both ends, and broke off. And in a second, it was falling.

Katrina knew Natasha wasn't dumb. She would've tried to stop herself if she could. But Natasha was moving too fast, and before she knew it, she fell, and skidded on her feet. The pillar fell on both her legs, crushing them. Katrina ran a few more feet until she skidded to a stop, and looked behind to see what had happened.

The cement was crushed and scattered all over the floor, and dust was enveloping the entire room. But all Katrina was focused on was Natasha, lying on the floor, legs getting crushed by cement, hissing in pain. Katrina didn't expect a scream. Natasha Romanoff didn't scream. Katrina slowly walked over to her, avoiding big chunks of cement. As she neared Natasha, her heart felt a strange flicker of pity at seeing her distressed and pale face, but she quickly pushed those feelings away, questioning why they were even there in the first place.

Katrina stood over Natasha, absolutely no emotion on her face. Natasha's entire legs and hips were crushed. Her bones must be shattered. Katrina's eyes trailed up to Natasha's face. Natasha looked at her with disgust, as if she were scum. Which, in her eyes, was true.

"You're going to pay for this. We're going to find you." Natasha spit the words out, blood slowly trickling from her mouth. Every syllable was covered in vengeance. Then a small, strange smile crossed her face.

Katrina didn't even blink. She had never felt sympathy for anyone before so any pity she might have felt a moment earlier vanished into nothingness. Natasha was just another victim for her to eliminate. She kneeled down slowly, hovering slightly over Natasha. Her voice filled the room, completely emotionless. "I liked you better when you weren't talking." Her fist came into contact with Natasha's head, knocking her out completely. Her body slumped down onto the cement. Then Katrina stood. Good. Now she wouldn't be a threat to them, at least for this particular mission.

Katrina ran upstairs, forgetting about Natasha. She was surprised when she found the doors open. That man had said he would lock it down. She sent a message out on her ringer.

 _Everyone evacuate. Now._

Katrina retraced the steps she had taken to get there, and before she knew it, she was back at the entrance of the building. She had encountered bunches of soldiers on the way, but after Natasha, they were a breeze to handle. She took them out without even thinking. DAGGER comrades were running past her to the plane, but Katrina stayed to make sure everyone was out—whomever had survived.

It was difficult getting everyone out. Soldiers kept appearing from nowhere, and Katrina and a few comrades had to keep taking them out. She shot at one, then another, then another. It was when no more comrades were appearing that she ran outside. All of the sudden, soldiers from inside showered her with bullets. They were running after her.

"Go!" Katrina screamed at the comrade watching her from the open door, horrified. "Take off! Start moving!" the comrade shouted at someone inside, and a second later, the plane started taking off. Soldiers were still shooting at her from behind, but her mind was focused on the plane.

She was still about a hundred feet away. The plane was furthering, and any second it would take off. Her vision blurred, but she willed herself to go faster. She reached into her belt and pulled out as may grenades as she could, and threw them at the soldiers, not even bothering to aim well. She heard multiple explosions, and the shooting stopped.

Her feet pounded against the pavement, And the comrade watched her through the door. "Move!" she screamed. The comrade moved out of sight in the plane.

And that's when the plane took off the ground.

Her heart beat so loud she could hear it in her head. The jet was getting higher. She was twenty feet away. The rest of the world stopped and time froze. It was just her and the jet. She had to get in the doorway.

 _Get in the door._

 _Don't smash against the jet._

 _Get in the door._

 _The door._

She was five feet away from the plane. She hurled her body upwards, lifting her feet, and flew in the air. Then she was in the jet, slamming against the floor.

Then everything went black.

* * *

Katrina woke in the hospital wing. She looked around; she was alone. There was an IV inserted into her arm and a dressing was taped to her forehead. She tried moving, and hissed in pain when an undeniable burning sensation took over her head and stomach.

The window was covered, but sunlight streamed in through the slants of the blinds. Katrina figured it was morning. She wondered how long she would have to stay here. She figured not long. She wasn't severely hurt, except for a few minor cuts here or there.

The peacefulness of the hospital room gave Katrina some time to think. They didn't complete the mission. They never got the bombs. She wondered how angry the General was right now. A small part of her was thankful she was in the hospital right now so she wouldn't have to face him and his wrath. They usually fulfilled his missions, but the few times they didn't, it never ended up well. But, no matter what he thought, Katrina knew that he was his fault for assigning something so incredibly difficult. If he had given them time, maybe just a few days, to prepare and plan, they would've had a higher chance at succeeding.

They also would've had a higher chance at succeeding if Natasha Romanoff hadn't been there. Katrina blamed mostly her for their failure. She wondered what was happening to Natasha right now. Had she been found? Probably.

 _How was she even there in the first place? Did she find out about the mission?_

Of course she'd found out. She worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. Slowly, everything started to make sense in Katrina's mind. S.H.I.E.L.D had found out about it. That's why all of those soldiers were there, waiting for them. They were S.H.I.E.L.D's recruits.

Oh no.

Oh _no_.

DAGGER had messed with the wrong people. If S.H.I.E.L.D found them now? They were as good as gone. DAGGER was stealthy and powerful but S.H.I.E.L.D. had a way of coming out on top every time. Katrina tried to think of a way S.H.I.E.L.D. could find out about them. They didn't have the DAGGER logos on their suits—

The plane. DAGGER kept their logo on their plane. Nothing else. They didn't even use their plane that often. The main transport they used was their jet. The plane only got used when a lot of comrades were assigned to the mission. They had to have seen it. The logo was huge, painted across the entire right side of the plane, which had been the side facing the building.

And Natasha Romanoff? Katrina had injured her. If S.H.I.E.L.D didn't have a reason to attack before, they definitely had a reason to attack now.

Katrina's hospital door opened, and in came another one of Katrina's comrades. Katrina recognized her as Margot. Margot's face was grim. Katrina braced herself.

"The General needs to talk to you."

* * *

When he'd heard Natasha had been in a fatal accident, Steve had almost had a heart attack. He'd thought she died. Thankfully, she didn't. But that didn't stop him from having another almost-heart attack when he saw her in the hospital room. She looked terrible. She was lying there on the hospital bed, both legs in casts, hanging up in the air supported by suspensions. Her entire torso was in a brace. There was gauze wrapped around several parts of her body. She also had a black eye.

Concerned, Steve walked inside. There was no one else in the room besides them. "Glad to see you've finally shown up," Natasha said, with a slight smile on her face.

"Yeah," Steve breathed, looking around the room. He looked back at her, eyes focusing. "How did this happen?" he asked, his deep voice cutting the silence of the room.

Natasha sighed. "It wasn't an accident."

Steve was taken aback. " _What?"_

"It was a girl." Natasha shook her head. "There were cement pillars in the room, and she blew one of them up. It ended up falling on my legs."

Steve didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to _do_. He felt so angry. How dare this girl hurt Natasha like this? Who was she? "Who was this girl?" Steve's voice was low, concerned, threatening.

Natasha looked in the distance, thinking. Then she spoke slowly. "She had long dark hair. It looked practically black, if not black. Her eyes were green, I think. Yes. Green. She was tall, taller than me. She was maybe…five ten, I'm guessing. She was pretty thin, but so was everyone else that came with her. I'm sure DAGGER doesn't give them enough food."

"Dagger?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes, DAGGER. When we went to the warehouse, we didn't know what we were up against." Natasha looked down, looking almost ashamed, which was odd to witness since she almost never seemed ashamed of anything. "The S.H.I.E.L.D recruits I went with found out that these— _soldiers—_ we fought against are part of another terror organization called DAGGER. Obviously very similar to HYDRA, but definitely on the more low-key side." Natasha paused for a second. "We're not sure what their main motives are. They could, and probably are, aiming for world domination like HYDRA, but again, maybe not. This _is_ the first time any of us has heard of them. The point is, now S.H.I.E.L.D has another enemy on their hands."

Steve tried to process all of this in his head. Another terror organization. This was terrible. If S.H.I.E.L.D had another HYDRA on their hands, things could be very bad. Steve wondered why no one had heard of them before. "So what now? Are we going after them?"

"Fury says he just sent out an official statement. Right now we're just launching an investigation. Turns out DAGGER's actually tried to mess with us directly, on multiple occasions. Then he's going to have the area scoped out."

"What if they attack first?" Steve didn't know why Fury didn't just send out the Avengers right now. DAGGER hurt Natasha. If not for the other things, did he not want to send them out to avenge Natasha?

"They won't." Natasha was blunt. Steve was about to question it, but decided not to. Questioning Natasha wasn't worth it.

Steve's eyes trailed back down to Natasha's legs. He remembered the reason he was here in the first place. Natasha had said it was a girl who had done this to her. Steve didn't care what Fury said, he couldn't let this girl run free. "I'm going after the girl."

Natasha nodded. "Fury could send—"

"I'm not going to Fury."

Natasha stared at him for a second. Then she slowly smiled. "I see. Well, then. You'd better be careful he doesn't catch you."

"Is there anything else about her? Something to help me pinpoint her better?"

Natasha opened her mouth, but closed it immediately. Her eyes averted to the back of the room. Steve turned and a nurse walked in. "I just need to check her vitals," she said softly to them both. Steve and Natasha looked at each other. They both waited for the nurse to finish what she was doing. Once she was done writing everything on her chart, she muttered, "All good." She looked up. "Do you need anything right now?"

"I'm fine," Natasha replied swiftly. The nurse nodded and then walked out the room. Natasha waited a few seconds before looking back at Steve. "A tattoo. She had a tattoo." Natasha placed a finger right behind her right ear. "Right here. The tattoo was of the numbers two eighty-three. I saw it after the pillar fell on me."

A tattoo. It was exactly what he needed. Now finding her would be no problem. Steve really hoped that Fury wouldn't assign him to anything anytime soon.

He had his own mission.

* * *

Katrina stared at Margot's hands. She was currently sitting in the General's office. She couldn't deny that she was worried. Usually she wasn't, but usually she also didn't attempt to murder an Avenger while also majorly botching a mission. So all she could do was focus on Margot's hands. Margot kept flexing them, over and over again. Clearly Margot was distressed as well.

 _Flex._

The door opened.

 _Unflex._

Someone walked in.

 _Flex._

The door closed.

 _Unflex._

The General slammed a hand down on the table in front of Katrina, startling her and Margot both. "You," he sneered.

Katrina didn't respond. What could she even say?

"You," the General repeated. "Ruined _everything_." He walked around the desk, and sat on his chair.

Katrina's breathing stopped. There was a lot of things he could mean by that. She quickly glanced at Margot, hoping to catch the meaning in her eyes, but Margot avoided eye contact, looking oddly guilty. Katrina's head whipped back to the General.

"Potentially blowing up the whole building, failing the mission, almost killing an _Avenger_ …you _exposed_ DAGGER."

Katrina willed herself to speak. "I—I don't know what you're talking about," she lied.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about!" the General exploded. Katrina winced. "Margot saw you. She watched all of it. Do not lie to me."

Katrina's head whipped to Margot. She was _watching_ her?

 _And she didn't even bother to help?_

Katrina's chest bubbled with anger. She was so close to attacking Margot right there. "Why didn't you _help_ me?" Katrina seethed.

Margot fidgeted. She was one of the newer recruits. "I—I thought you had it under control."

Katrina exploded. "Under _control_? It that why I had to resort to _bombing_ —"

"Enough!" the General cut her off, then spoke. Or, rather, he _spat._ "You're a _disgrace_. You almost killed Natasha Romanoff. Now, because of you, S.H.I.E.L.D _and_ the government is now after us. They sent out an official statement just this morning against us."

Katrina willed herself not to punch the wall. Everything she had been fearing had become true. The General continued. "Now, because of you, we're expecting attacks from them. I've kept this place a secret for _years_ and now, because of _you_ , we're exposed. I should have you killed." The General's eyes were threatening.

Katrina's heart leapt to her throat. For the very first time in her life, fear ran through her veins.

"But I won't."

Katrina, in shock, stared at the General.

He continued, scowling. "I can't deny that you're one of my best recruits. You've accomplished many of my missions, some of them even unaccompanied. So consider this a thank you. I'm not going to kill you—but I'm kicking you out. Forever." He leaned in. His voice was low. "Change your name, dye your hair, do whatever you want to stay alive. As if you know how to stay alive."

Katrina's mind spun.

"But know this," the General growled. "If I ever see your face again, _I will kill you_. From this moment on, you are dead to DAGGER. And if you want to keep that a metaphorical death, you'll vanish forever."

Katrina's thoughts were so wild her mind couldn't function. DAGGER was all she'd ever known. She didn't know how to survive out there. She didn't have any diplomas or degrees. She didn't know anyone on the outside. She didn't even have any _money_. But it was clear on the General's face he wasn't going to give her any. He wasn't going to give her anything to survive.

She was on her own now.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The night was dark. The air was chilly. The streets were empty. Katrina's mind was dull. She didn't know where she was going.

Actually, she did. Sort of.

When the General kicked her out, she left immediately. Why? It was light out. She wasn't dumb. She might've been confined all her life but she still knew what happened at night in these kinds of areas. What kind of people came out. Of course, she could fight off anyone she wanted to, but it was still good to be safe.

Earlier, Katrina had walked for what seemed like hours. At first, she had no idea where she was going. She just walked until she found some sign of civilization. It turned out she'd been walking in some sort of forest preserve area. She located a big…map. One that was stuck to the ground. She assumed it was for people who passed through and wanted to get a scope of the area. After looking at the map, she realized she was going south. Then she realized heading south would lead her to New York City. Surprisingly, the General never had them go to New York City. Katrina had heard of it, and she'd always wanted to go. But no matter how hard she prayed for it to happen, it never did. And it was so close.

It was now just within her grasp.

If she continued going south, it would be hard, but she could make it there. She had already made it to Massachusetts after walking for hours from the border of southern Vermont. It would just take a few more days…

The City That Never Sleeps. She could already see it. She could go there, see people, be with people, meet people. She could start a life. She didn't know how, but she could. Perhaps this whole affair had been a blessing in disguise.

She could learn to be a real person.

She was terrified but she was trying to hold onto the positives of the situation: a life without rules, without regulations, without…any sort of structure at all.

Actually, she wasn't so sure this was a blessing.

But she didn't want to think about any of this at the moment; she had a feeling she might start to legitimately have a panic attack if she kept pondering her future. So she grabbed a map from the little holder and started on her journey.

She was currently in the middle of Connecticut. The map she'd gotten was in central Massachusetts as well, and it told her she had walked about fifty miles. A normal person probably wasn't capable of walking fifty plus miles without any food or water, but Katrina was trained for this kind of thing. Actually, a few years ago, while she was still in training, she was thrown out for two days without any food or water, all while being watched, to improve her survival skills. She had done well, but a few other comrades had been on the verge of death.

She couldn't tell the time, but obviously it was night. Katrina shivered slightly when she felt a wisp of cold air. She was only wearing a thin, long sleeved black shirt tucked into a pair of high-waisted black jeans. These were the clothes she'd put on when she left the hospital wing. If she knew what was to come, she would've dressed better.

She was standing next to a long vacant street, trying to read her map, with only the help of a few dull street lights. She squinted and stood under one of the lights, trying to figure out where exactly she is. Just then, the map started getting brighter. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a growing light coming from the street. She looked up just as a car stopped next to her. Her grip on her map tightened slightly.

The window of the front seat rolled down, and a man grinned at her from inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, Katrina guessed. She eyed his raggedy clothes and unshaven face. "What's a sweetheart like you doin' all alone in the middle of nowhere?" The man grinned even harder.

Katrina's stomach flipped slightly. She didn't like the look of this man at all. Her defense reflexes perked up suddenly, and she resisted the urge to hit him. "I'm just going somewhere." She lifted up her map slightly, gesturing towards it.

He smirked. "All alone? Without a car?"

Katrina's eyes flitted down to the car. Good idea.

"Where you going?" the man asked intrusively.

Katrina considered telling him. What was the harm? Then, "New York City." She eyed his steering wheel.

The man laughed out loud. "Like this? You'd never make it, honey. A little thing like you would probably get picked up by some strangers and never see the light of day again."

 _Like you?_

Either he was completely oblivious or extremely smart.

Katrina gritted her teeth. _Little thing?_ Katrina so badly wanted to show him what this 'little thing' could do to him.

"How's about I give you a ride?" he asked slimily. He slung his arm out the window, making Katrina step back just a little bit.

 _Oh, you definitely can give me a ride._

Katrina considered knocking him out and stealing his car. Then she could get to the city without a problem. And she was about to, she was so close, until her conscious spoke to her.

 _Don't. He'll get killed if you leave him here._

Most of Katrina didn't care, but it was that one part in her heart that was holding her back. She looked back at the man. He started at her expectedly, waiting for an answer. Finally, though gritted teeth, she forced herself to say, "That would be great."

The man grinned grossly again. "Hop on in."

Slowly, Katrina made it around his car, and right before she was about to enter, and quickly grabbed a sharp branch she spotted on the ground. She sat in his car, concealing the branch by putting it under her thigh, and was immediately hit with one of the most repugnant smells she'd ever smelled in her life. She tried to ignore it the best she could.

The man started the car, and Katrina continued to feel uneasy. "So, what's your name, darling?" he asked.

Katrina clenched her fist. She'd known him for about five minutes, and she was already sick of him calling her names. She tried calming herself mentally, and said, "Katrina."

The man chuckled. "Not much of a talker, are you?"

Katrina didn't respond.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and said, "My name's John." He stayed silent for a moment, perhaps waiting for some sort of answer.

"Okay."

John stiffened. "So," he continued. Katrina groaned inwardly. "Where you from?"

"Vermont."

"Got any family?"

Katrina looked down. "No."

"Oh?" For some reason, he seemed genuinely pleased. "Got a partner?"

"No."

" _Oh?"_ he chuckled. Katrina's hand moved slightly towards her stick. She suddenly knew getting in the car with him had been a terrible mistake.

He seemed like he was about to say something else, but Katrina decided she was done with his inquiries. "Stop talking." The statement was quick and to the point. His head whipped towards her but she didn't understand why. All she did was tell him to stop talking.

They drove on for about ten minutes until he pulled into a gas station. "Need gas," he muttered. But he didn't pull up to one of the gas deposits. He drove around the little convenient store and parked behind it, where no one could see them. Instantly, Katrina's defense mode kicked in.

He unbuckled his seat belt quickly and stared at her for a few seconds, before reaching for her. Katrina tried unbuckling her seat belt as fast as she could but before she knew it, he was all over her. She growled. He grabbed her arm, and she swatted it away.

 _Do not kill him._

"Stop fighting me," he muttered throatily. He grabbed her waist and hip, and tried to climb on top of her. Katrina let out an angered cry and pushed him off aggressively.

 _Do not kill him._

He then grabbed her head and tried to pin her other wrists with his other hand. He tried pulling her head closer, but in a second, her arm was free of his grip and swinging at his face.

 _Do not kill him._

"You little—!" His hand swung at her face, striking it. Then there was dead silence, him angered, her shocked. Her shock quickly bubbled into rage. Her head slowly turned towards him, death in her eyes. The flicker of fear in his own was hard to miss.

 _That's it._

Katrina grabbed his face and slammed it against the window. Then she slammed it again and punched his cheek with her other hand. Blood smeared on the widow. He let out a cry, a scream of agony, but Katrina wasn't filled with mercy. She never was. She let go of his face, and he tried swinging at her, but she caught his hand, and twisted it in an unusual angle, resulting in a scream of pain from him. She grabbed the back of his shirt, slammed him against the steering wheel, and stabbed his back with the branch. His scream pierced the car, and she knew it would be heard from outside.

"Shut up." Her voice was low, aggressive, threatening. Then, with a swift snap of the neck, he was gone.

Katrina had no regrets. He tried to hurt her. Take advantage of her. He was a bad person. So she killed him. And maybe that was good, too. If he hadn't come across her he would've tried to hurt other people.

Katrina threw his body on the ground. She cleaned the blood on the window as best as she could using his shirt. Then she was off.

It was daytime by the time Katrina arrived at New York. She arrived at the extreme southern part of New York, so she was close to the city. She didn't use a map to get to the city, she only followed the signs on the highway and hoped she was driving correctly and wasn't being mislead.

Thankfully, she wasn't. A she drove into the city, she marveled at the liveliness of it all. She'd never seen anything like it. The people, the buildings, the _colors_. Katrina had never seen a place with the amount of color New York City had.

And the people…everywhere Katrina looked was a new person. Some in groups, some in pairs, some alone. She passed adults walking their babies in strollers, she passed groups of teenagers laughing and eating ice cream, she passed lone wolves with headphones stuck in their ears. Katrina didn't know exactly the area she was in. The bridge she'd crossed, she was sure it was called Manhattan Bridge. After that, all she knew was that she was in New York City because she saw the Empire State Building.

Katrina immediately ditched the car. She didn't have any money to park it and it was a waste of time. She could walk. And if she needed to, she could easily steal another one. She left the car at the side of the road. Someone else could deal with that.

Katrina looked at the view in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat.

She made it.

* * *

 _Even in the hospital, Natasha still can manage to force me into a date._

Right now Steve was on his way to a well known café to go on a blind date that Natasha set up for him. She'd been doing this ever since they met a year ago, and although Steve appreciated the gestures, he sometimes didn't know why Natasha spent so much of her time focused on him.

 _It's because you're lonely_ , she'd said. Steve had scoffed at that, even though he knew it was true. When he came out of the ice everyone he knew was dead. It'd been seventy years. Howard, Dr. Erskine, Bucky…Steve felt a pain in his chest when he thought about Bucky. He didn't like to think about how Bucky had died even before Steve hit the ice. How he never got to say goodbye.

And Peggy.

Steve had loved no one like he loved her. He didn't know if he could love anyone else like he loved her. She was different from everyone else. She had this… _persistence_ , about her. This headstrong attitude, this independence, this stamina. Peggy was the one Steve had looked up to the most. Even before the serum, she viewed him as not a burden like everyone else, but an equal.

And then all of that ended when he hit the ice. _Stupid, so stupid. I'm so stupid,_ he told himself sometimes. He felt so guilty about it, he never even got a proper goodbye. And he felt even guiltier because he knew what he had done was for the safety of everyone, but he sometimes reminisced about what would've happened if he didn't. If he didn't…would it have mattered? The Tesseract came out of the ice along with him.

 _Now I'm really being stupid. I'm so selfish._

He was the most selfish person he'd ever seen.

When Steve's stop arrived, he was out of the train in a flash. As he walked through the streets of New York City, he marveled at how beautifully the city had been rebuilt. And only in a year. The battle of New York had completely destroyed the city, and although Steve had tried his best to help with the cleanup, Fury had warned him against it. Although he was viewed as a hero, he said it was still bad for him to show his face again to the public so soon.

Steve saw her as soon as he entered the café. _Le Charmant Café._ She, Dakota, had insisted on coming here. Steve would've preferred to come to his usual coffee shop, but Dakota had insisted on this place instead. Natasha said she had blonde hair, and Steve only saw one female blonde in the café, so he made his way to her.

Dakota looked up from the menu she was reading. She smiled. "Steve?"

"I'm the guy." Steve smiled. "Dakota, right? I'm sorry, I forgot, was it north or south?"

Silence. Dakota didn't laugh, or even smile. She just stared at Steve. Steve awkwardly coughed. Clearly that joke either wasn't good, or she didn't get it. Natasha always told him to start off the conversation with a joke. Maybe it was her idea of a prank. "I'm going to sit down now," Steve mumbled. He sat, and Dakota still didn't say a word. Already, this date was going horribly wrong.

Steve picked up a menu. Two seconds later, Dakota asked, "So are you paying or am I? I mean, you're the guy, so I think you should pay." Dakota stared at Steve.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. "Don't worry, I've got the bill." Steve never minded paying, but her obtuseness threw him off slightly. He glanced down at the menu, and inhaled slightly. Everything on this menu looked so fancy. Nothing looked appealing. And there were only about ten things on the menu to begin with. He decided to settle just with a coffee.

He tried to make some small talk with her. "So…what do you do for a living?"

She shifted. "Well…I don't really do anything." Steve looked at her questioningly. "I just stay with my boyfriend, to be honest."

Steve blinked once. Then he blinked twice. "Pardon?"

"Yeah," she said, waving her hand. "He's just a phase. We had a thing for a few weeks, but nothing serious. I've been looking for someone new recently, so…here I am." She laughed, and Steve tried his best to laugh along with her, but ended up choking on his own saliva.

When the waitress came to their table, Steve gave his order, and then waited for Dakota to give hers. She didn't order much also, just one slice of cake.

She stirred the straw in the water. "So, where are you from?"

"Brooklyn, actually."

"Really?" She looked up. "Ugh, I was hoping you weren't actually from America."

Steve wasn't exactly sure what that meant.

At his confused stare, she clarified. "I just don't really like American boys. They're, like, too passionate for me."

Again, Steve wasn't exactly sure what that meant.

"All this talk about 'freedom!' and 'rights for everything!'…just waaay too passionate for me. Like, get a life." She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Steve felt more uncomfortable than ever. Clearly, it was obvious that this girl doesn't know who he was. He looked down, avoiding eye contact. He had a feeling this was going to be a long date.

* * *

First, Katrina would have to dispose of her clothes. They smelled of blood and sweat, her pants were ripped slightly at the knee, and there was blood splattered on her shirt. The shirt was black, so it wasn't really noticeable as blood anyways, but Katrina didn't know how to not be paranoid.

Katrina walked down streets, looking for a clothing store to rob. Every store she passed didn't have appropriate attire for fighting, and Katrina almost wanted to vomit at the sight of the frilly pink dresses and sparkly black shoes. She wondered how women wear this stuff; didn't they get uncomfortable? How did they run and jump?

The day was hot and humid. Katrina was used to sweat, but she started feeling irritated. She pulled at her shirt.

As she walked, Katrina smelled something funny. She sniffed. Her eyes darted, instinctively looking around for dead bodies or lit buildings. She then realized this smell was different. Different and unusual. Sweet and sugary. She inhaled once, then inhaled twice, even stronger. She stopped, willing herself to find the source of the smell. She liked the smell.

Her nose buzzed, not yet accustomed with this unfamiliar yet pleasurable smell. She spotted something pink on the side of the street. A food cart. Behind it was a man in a white apron holding something out to a child It was a white stick with…pink cotton on it? Katrina neared the cart, the smell intensifying. She examined the cotton from a distance. What was that? Her gaze shifted and she watched the child stick his face into the cotton, pulling a piece out with his teeth and shove it into his mouth. It disappeared. How did he do that? Why did he just eat a piece of cotton?

The cotton smelled sickeningly sweet, and even though Katrina liked the smell, she willed herself not to run up to the cart and grab the stick from the man. She watched him and he held another stick inside the cart and started spinning it around slowly. She watched the cotton slowly envelope itself magically onto the cone. Her eyes almost popped out of her head.

 _Where was it coming from?_

As much as she wanted to know more, she knew she had a mission to accomplish.

* * *

Steve stared down at his coffee, wishing he could drown in it. He stared into the empty black abyss, wondering if it would be better down there than up here. He willed himself to drink another sip.

The small talk was painful. Dakota asked him what he did for a living, and Steve said he drew. He could see the judgment in her eyes, but he ignored it because he wasn't going to go any further with this girl. He wondered why she didn't recognize him, but then decide he didn't care.

Steve felt like he was counting down the minutes until his death.

* * *

Katrina unnoticeably slithered out the door of the store she just robbed. She briskly walked down the sidewalk, hoping no one would notice. She'd left her used clothes in a pile in the dressing room she'd used, not bothering to care about how _that_ would result.

For what seemed like hours or minutes, she couldn't tell, she walked down the streets of New York City. All she knew for sure was that she was impeccably thirsty. Her dry throat tightened, and she willed for something to quench her. She didn't have any money, and she didn't have any sort of water bottle.

So she pick-pocketed a stranger. What other option did she have? In her mind, the stranger was doing _her_ a favor.

She'd grabbed his wallet without noticing, grabbed a few bucks, and returned the wallet. At first she wasn't planning on it, but she saw the two children with him, and she felt a prickle of guilt in her chest. With a sigh, she pocketed the money.

She decided that she wouldn't steal money from one stranger alone. Pick-pocketing was one of her favorite sports, so she would grab a little from someone different, accumulating more with each person. It's more fun for her that way.

She entered the next food shop she came across. It was a little café. She scanned the menu, and decided a coffee would make do. She didn't have too much money, she'd have to save it.

As she waited for her coffee, she leaned against the counter, and watched the few people that were in there. There was a younger looking girl sat alone at her table, and furiously typed on her laptop. She sipped a sip of her drink every few seconds, never taking her eyes off her screen. Katrina decided she must've been a college student. She wished she went to college.

The only other two people besides the baristas were a couple sat in the corner. Katrina could see the blonde girl, but couldn't see the guy sat across from her. All she saw was his blond hair.

Katrina heard her name called out, and turned around to pay for her coffee. She impatiently waited for the barista to put in her change, and she tapped her foot. Her sense of her surroundings kicked in, and she suddenly got a peculiar feeling at the back of her neck. Her nape pricked, and in two seconds, she grabbed her coffee, and turned around to leave before almost smashing into someone.

Her grip on her drink tightened when she saw it was that blonde guy. He was right behind her, but his face was turned to her left, so she couldn't really see his face. She scowled at him, and he mumbled something like an apology. His face seemed distressed...concerned. Worried. Focused. Concentrated? His face hardened like steel.

Annoyed, Katrina ignored her precaution alarms blaring in her head, and pushed her way past him.

* * *

Steve saw it. On her ear.

 _Two eighty-three._


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Steve wanted to do was smash her head against the wall. But that wouldn't be socially acceptable.

 _Or ethically._

He panicked, not knowing what to do. She was leaving, but he was still on a date. At this point, he didn't really care about civility, he wanted to ditch his date.

But that also wouldn't be socially acceptable.

So he did the thing that would be one slight step above that on the socially acceptable scale.

He told her there was a sudden emergency and left, without even giving her a chance to speak. Don't worry, he still paid the bill.

Outside the café, Steve frantically searched the crowd for the girl. His eyes yearned for the sight of her dark hair. There? No. _There?_ No!

He gripped his head, angry with himself. He had one job. He couldn't even do this for Nat. He—

Wait. Was that…?

Yes. There, on the bench near the fountain. She was faced the other way, but he could tell it was the same girl. He walked closer, slowly. He tried to get an accurate description of her appearance while being inconspicuous.

She matched what Nat described perfectly. Long, dark, maybe black hair. Green eyes. Tall. Probably about five-ten. And, as Steve saw before, the tattoo behind her ear.

Steve had to come up with a game plan. Obviously, he would confront her. Not in public. He couldn't take her home, he didn't know how much trouble she really was. But if she took Natasha Romanoff down, she was obviously a lot. And he certainly couldn't take her to S.H.I.E.L.D. That would show Fury that Steve went directly against his orders, and, plus, they would take her into their custody.

No, Steve wanted to deal with her himself.

He adjusted his cap and fake glasses. Sometimes he thought of it as a stupid disguise, sometimes he felt invincible. Nonetheless, it worked.

He sat on a bench near her. He watched her. She sat there, quietly, sipping her drink. She didn't have any sort of device, or book, she just sat there and stared off into space, not noticing Steve was secretly planning her demise.

* * *

At least, that's what it seemed like. Katrina knew that guy had followed her. She walked off into the most crowded part of the area, so he couldn't try anything. Katrina didn't look at him directly once, but she kept watch through the corner of her eye.

He looked…familiar. She felt like she'd seen his face before, somewhere. The fact that she couldn't remember bugged her.

Katrina had no clue what that guy would want from her. The first time he even saw her was just a few minutes ago in the café. On that note…wasn't he with someone?

Unless they had some unfinished business from a previous mission, and he recognized her. That must be why he looks so familiar. What other explanation could there be?

It was unfortunate on her part. She's strong, but he's big and muscular. If they were to fight, there would be a chance of her losing. And what would that result in? Him killing her?

Of course this happened the _day_ she got to the city.

She sipped her coffee in rather small sips, drawing out as much time as she could. She had nowhere to go, so she could waste all the time in the world, but he was sure to have a life. He would leave, eventually, she decided.

But he didn't. He stayed, the whole time, the whole _two hours_. When she couldn't pretend anymore without looking obvious, she got up and stalked towards the garbage bin near. For a second she was tempted to throw the empty cup at his head.

It was getting dark, she had nowhere to go, and someone was following her. This was a wonderful start to her new life.

She tried to slip away into the darkness of the fading sun. It was getting dark. She really had no clue what she was going to do.

And all at once, all the realizations of what's happening hit her hard. She fully understood the gravity of the situation.

She walked down the street, an unfamiliar bubble of panic forming in her chest. Would she get a job? _Could_ she get a job? She had no form of education. And then what? How would she get a place? It would take her months to save up for even the tiniest apartment in a city this big. How would she find a realtor? Pay taxes? What if she needed a doctor? Did she have to buy her own food? Where do you buy groceries?

Katrina had always thought of herself as a knowledgeable adult. Now she realized she was just a naïve child who knew how to hit.

 _Crack._

"Oh, _shi—_ "

* * *

Steve cursed himself. He'd been following the girl without her noticing for the past ten minutes, and he just blew his cover by stepping on a branch. Real cliché.

The girl whipped around, ten feet in front of her. She'd heard him even so because the street was quiet. There were few people walking at this time, or at least in this area. Steve wasn't sure where exactly she was going. She'd seem to be wandering with no particular aim.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Steve was a little startled at the intensity of her eyes. They reminded him a little of Natasha. But…worse. Her face was stone, and she looked like she wanted to cut him apart and feed him to the sharks.

"Why are you following me?" she demanded.

"You…" Steve tried to find the right words. He had thought of many things to say to her, but a loss of words was not one of them.

"Who are you?" she walked a little bit closer, and her voice was threatening.

How could Steve possibly explain that she had harmed one of his best friends and therefore he was now obligated to hunt her down? How could he say that without disclosing who he was?

Then again…did it really matter who he was? Did he really care?

"You had some unfinished business with a friend of mine." He said it quietly but assertively.

He watched a display of emotions cross her face, trying to recognize him. Confusion, then realization, then horror. Almost.

He watched her face turn into stone again, and admired her ability to do that, although he knew he could do the same. Going through loss after loss after loss really wears a guy down. He watched her calculate a response.

A slow, nefarious smile started to spread across her face. Her eyes lit up with flickers of wickedness. She laughed, a low, villainous laugh, and in that moment she reminded Steve a little of Satan.

Anger surged through him, and he advanced. "Do you think this is funny?" he demanded aggressively, his voice raising. His fists clenched, and the fact that she had the _audacity_ to laugh made him want to throttle her.

The maniacal look had left her eyes, and was replaced by pure malice. She hissed words in between her teeth. "I would do anything to witness the pain she was in once more. The way the cement crushed her bones, the way she hissed in pain, the way she writhed and thrashed while choking on dust," she spit the words out, but there was a twinkle in her eye as she said them. Steve's eye almost popped a vessel. "I'll never forget her face as my fingers wrapped around her throat. The brood trickling down her face…" she trailed off, staring into nothing as she recalled the moment, almost in a condescending wonderment. Then her eyes snapped up to Steve. "And she was a close friend of yours, wasn't she? You guys fought side by side as Avengers?" she laughed and shook her head. "It's a shame I didn't kill her. Maybe I should head over to her right now—"

Steve's fist swung as hard as it could, but she dodged it, grinning. Steve put so much force into the hit that he stumbled forward, almost falling on his face. The girl stepped to the side, watching him in amusement. "You're funny. And not what I expected an Avenger to be. How exactly did you save New York, again?"

Then she was slammed against the wall, the breath knocked out of her. The unexpected force took her by surprise, and she spluttered. Steve's large hand was wrapped around her throat, and the other had her hands pinned behind her. He choked her, just a little, watching the fear leak into her eyes. It pleased him, knowing that her pain was his doing. He wanted her to suffer just the way Natasha did. He wanted to _hurt_ her, to choke on the words she just spoke.

Then, a horrified part inside Steve pushed those thoughts away. This was solely for Natasha; he was only doing this for Natasha. Not for his own pleasure.

The girl kicked his groin and he stumbled back, grunting in pain. Her leg swung at his face, but he caught it, yanking her to the floor. Her back slammed against the pavement, but she jumped up in a second. She swung at his face, and he dodged it.

She's good, but he's better. He hit the side of her face, and he felt a sickening crack when his fist made contact. She let out a cry, gripping the side of her face. Then he hit her again and again. Normally, he didn't like hurting women, but this was an exception.

All of the sudden she grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, and Steve felt like his head would snap right off. She punched his throat, and he choked. He clawed at her face, and she swung again. Then they were on the floor, beating each other.

Sirens. All around, Steve could hear them. They both stopped. He hadn't realized how much of a ruckus they'd been making. The police were surely on their way. A few civilians were watching in horror, some filming.

"Get out," he shouted. "Now!" Frightened, they all scurried away.

Realizing he didn't have much time before the cops showed, he decided to knock the girl out. She was distracted, what else could he do? His fist slammed against her skull, and she collapsed. He picked her up, and kicked away his shattered glasses and cap.

Now, where on Earth would he go?

* * *

 _Got her._

Natasha stared at her phone, the two words sending a thrill down her spine. The brightness of the screen was the only thing illuminating the room of complete darkness. A prompt smile crossed her face, and she sat back against her bed, in a silent satisfaction. She looked at her bandaged and casts, and instead of the bitterness that usually flooded her veins, she felt contempt instead. The serene look on her face would have looked alarming to anyone she didn't know, but those that knew her also knew that she was cooking up a detrimental recipe.

Oh, karma really was a bitch.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, guys! I know it's been a long time since I've uploaded, but these last few months have been crazy for me. I rarely found the time to write and continue the story. I hate that I've left you guys hanging, but I'm back now, and hopefully I can start sticking to a schedule! Thank you so much for being patient!**

* * *

The Black Drill. It embodied darkness. It embodied death. It was a threatening, sinister force, something so rare, yet something so feared. When you heard the Black Drill, you heard the start of a war. It was a deafening, terrifying din, something that felt like it had escaped nightmares.

Katrina only heard it once. She was fourteen. She thought she was going to die. She thought the world was ending.

But that was relative. Because it was, just not to her.

The General's daughter had been kidnapped.

Yes, the General had a _daughter_.

When Katrina found out, she was shocked, one of the very few times emotions actually escaped her. The General never seemed like…the family type. In fact, Katrina wasn't exactly sure whether he was married or had any sort of relationship with someone. And if he did have a child…she thought he'd have been a deadbeat.

But he wasn't.

He had no second thoughts about alarming the Black Drill for her. Something so sacred and only meant for the worst of the worst of the _worst_ situations. His unyielding pertinacity in finding her was almost admirable, if it hadn't been from someone so cruel.

The whole team was out there looking for her. Katrina included.

 _It must be nice having someone care about you._ Katrina pondered over this sometimes. Every once in a while she felt a spark in her heart, asking her why she only had herself to share these thoughts with. Why she herself was the only person she ever shared her heart with.

They found the General's daughter in a cold, dark room. Much like the one Katrina was sitting in now. The only difference was, no one was coming to find her.

She woke up with blood matted to her hair. She knew because she felt the dry, crusty feeling on her head when she felt it. Oh, and the searing pain, too. Other than that, she couldn't tell anything about herself or her surroundings. The room was pitch dark other than the few slants of lights coming on from a patch on the right wall. Katrina had walked around the room, trying to figure out the perimeter. If there were any ways she could try to escape. But, to her surprise, there was no solid door. None that she could feel. And the walls were a strange texture. Hard, rough, _woody_.

The whole room smelled of wood. She took a wild guess and decided that she was in a cabin. But where?

 _I can't ever get a break, can I?_

It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her _fault_ that she hurt the Black Widow. Those were her orders.

 _That didn't stop you from enjoying it,_ she thought to herself. She chuckled, because it was true. Thinking about the fact that _she_ had conquered the Black Widow exhilarated her. Just imagine, if it was Captain America's neck that would be under her fingers the next time.

Speaking of which—

The door slammed open. So there was a door, Katrina realized there was no handle, just a thin crevice outlining the piece of wood, so thin that it felt unnoticeable to the touch . She felt irritated. He's smarter than she thought.

A streak of light stroked her eyes, blinding her for a moment. Then he emerged from the light. With his perfectly kept blond hair and his perfectly symmetrical face and his perfectly built body and his perfect… _aura_ , he looked like an angel emerging from the heavens. And that annoyed Katrina a lot. In fact, it infuriated her. Everything about him was perfect. Even the air around him was perfect. It made him seem innocent. Pristine.

But Katrina knew, oh, she knew he was far from it.

She wanted to slap his face clean off. But she was physically handicapped right now. Everything about her body hurt when she moved. Standing up was a feat in itself.

Captain America shut the innovative door, sealing them both in darkness. For a moment, Katrina thought he was going to attack her in the dark. But he strode over to the side of the room, and pushed a log straight out of the wall. Like it was nothing. Without any strain at all. He did the same for the parallel wall, and pretty soon two fresh slits of sunlight shone into the room.

Katrina lowered her eyes, not wanting to look at him. His glare alone could send daggers flying at her. He walked over to her, slowly, and knelt down in front of her. She shied her face away from him, on brace of the impact. But he didn't hit her.

"Do it," she spit. "Kill me. You can avenge your friend."

"I don't think so."

* * *

Steve didn't want to kill her. Well, it wasn't that he didn't necessarily want her to _die_ , but he didn't want to be the one to do it. He wasn't a killer. No, he wanted answers. Not why she did it, that would be pointless. He knew why.

He needed to know about DAGGER. If it's anything like HYDRA? That would be bad, really bad.

The girl's face shot up, her eyes displaying genuine confusion.

"I don't want to kill you." Steve scanned her hands to make sure she wasn't holding any potential weapons. "I just want answers."

"Answers to what?" she fired back instantaneously.

"Who are you working for?" Steve demanded.

Her mouth twitched into a slightly disturbing smile. "I don't work for anything."

Steve wasn't buying it. "DAGGER."

"I don't know what that is." Her acting was so good, she almost had Steve fooled. That is, if he hadn't noticed the slight pause in the beginning of her sentence.

It angered Steve that she was lying to him. That she was smiling. Did she think this was a joke? That _he_ was a joke?

Steaming silently, he forced himself to remain calm. "Look, I know you're lying to me. And it won't get you anywhere because I'm not letting you go. So why don't we cut the bs, and you tell me what the hell DAGGER is?"

She grinned wickedly. "Kill me then, because I don't know."

"What's that number behind your ear for?"

Her smile dropped immediately. She shifted uncomfortably, and Steve knew he got her. She shook her head and said, "It's just a personal tattoo." An uncertainty lingered in her voice.

"Of the number two eighty-three? That's an odd choice. Does it mean anything?" He was playing with her know and she knew it. Any response she would have to say would be ridiculous, and she knew that, too. She had no choice but to tell the truth.

"Why don't you just kill me?" she demanded.

"Because I don't want to. And even if I did, I still need answers."

"I can't tell you." Her eyes darkened. "I won't tell you."

Frustrated, Steve stood up and kicked a crate so hard it went flying. He can't do anything himself, can't he? Always needs someone else's help to get the job done. Dr. Erskine, Fury, Peggy, Howard, even _Tony_. As much as Steve hated to admit it, Tony was the brains of the Avengers and he was just the muscle. What else can he do besides punch? Bruce is also a genius, Thor's a god, Natasha's a spy, Clint can actually shoot a goddamn bow, and he…

 _Everything about you came from a bottle._

Steve resented Tony for saying that. But Steve resented himself even more, because it was true, and he knew it.

* * *

Katrina wasn't surprised when the beefy guy stormed out of the room. She wouldn't crack, no matter how hard he tried.

She couldn't.

If she did, her life would be on the line.

If she exposed the General it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that it was her. And even if he didn't, who said S.H.I.E.L.D wouldn't kill her for all the things she'd done? She personally didn't care nor think they were bad things, but she knew that other people didn't agree.

Her throat tightened, and it was dry from a lack of fluid. She rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and she flinched when she found it rough and prickly. The Captain left the panels out of their places, which probably meant he was going to come back soon. Or maybe he wasn't.

Katrina still wasn't sure how smart he actually was.

Well, whatever the matter, Katrina decided she was still going to try to escape anyways. She was a soldier. Soldiers don't give up.

She stumbled up, but fell again as soon as the "door" slammed open again. She glared at the Avenger. "Maybe you should start giving warnings," she hissed.

The Captain sauntered over to her and grudgingly set down something at her feet. Water—and food.

Katrina eyed the slightly wet paper bag in front of her, steam coming out of the top. Her hands begged to reach for the water bottle but she refused them. She questioningly glanced at the Captain and his jaw was tight; he didn't meet her eye.

"Eat it," he mumbled.

Katrina shook her head slightly in disbelief. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Don't make this harder than it already is." His voice was gruff and strained, and Katrina realized this was probably as painful for him as it was for her.

Katrina let out a humorless laugh. "You kidnapped me."

The Captain shoved the bag towards her. "I'm not going to let you starve!"

Katrina shoved the bag back. "I don't want it!"

"Eat it!"

"No!"

The Captain's fist clenched and Katrina was wondering whether he was ready to sock her in the face. His mouth was twisted into a frown and he shook his head slightly, his eyes averted from hers. He sighed. He really did look like an old man here, to Katrina. He looked so… _sad_ , and hopeless. Katrina willed herself to feel bad but she couldn't. He'd wronged her, why did he deserve any sympathy? He didn't.

He looked up at her and their eyes met.

"I'll be waiting outside," the Captain said, and then he got up, and left.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He didn't even use the bathroom.

He didn't know what to _do_.

Whenever he was sent to hold someone hostage, it was never really _him_ doing it. He just caught the guy and went on his merry way home. The thought of Steve having to do any of that stuff—interrogation, blackmail, threats…it made him a little sick. He couldn't stomach doing that to anyone because he was afraid a little piece of his heart would find sympathy for the perpetrator and then at that point he just _wouldn't_ be able to be cruel. Steve liked to use his fists, not his intellect. He left the others to do the thinking and, despite himself, he still hated it.

He'd been sitting outside the cabin for a whole twelve hours now, and no matter what he did, Two Eighty-Three just didn't budge. She wouldn't leak even a single piece of information about DAGGER, yet she knew Steve knew she worked for them. Steve racked his brain for reasons why they'd never encountered the organization before and he could come up with no logical explanation. It wasn't possible this was their first attack—their soldiers were too well-equipped for that, and their tech was too advanced. After they left the warehouse, the building was scavenged and they found some dropped equipment that was taken into investigation.

Steve theorized that it could have been a pseudonym, a fake organization planted to purpose to lead them away from the real one. Steve considered whether they were on some random goose chase, if they were running around in circles searching for something that didn't exist. He played around with the idea a little bit, but if that were true, why did Two Eighty-Three react the way she did when he mentioned it? Why did her jaw clench, her mouth twitch the way it did if it were fake? Shouldn't she have been confident in her position if Steve had no clue of the real one?

For a moment Steve thought that DAGGER might have been a subsection of HYDRA, but there was no proof to back that up. HYDRA's goal is world domination, but no one had a clue of DAGGER's. They were caught trying to steal nukes, so that was clearly a bad indication of DAGGER's motives and capabilities, but there was really no reason for HYDRA to go through all the trouble of creating a whole new sect.

Steve still didn't really know how S.H.I.E.L.D. knew there would be an attack. He had asked Natasha, and all she said was, "I'm a spy, Steve," with a strange twist in her mouth. Steve knew that was code for "I'm literally not allowed to say or else I'll lose my job," so he didn't push it. It just didn't make sense to him how they managed to predict the attack without having any previous knowledge about DAGGER.

Steve heard a loud crash from inside the cabin. Right. Intellect for later.

When Steve entered the cabin, he immediately saw a crate flying directly towards his face and ducked. Vexed, he crossed his arms. "Are you going to quit acting like a child?"

Two Eighty-Three's eyes blazed, and Steve had to wonder what happened for such hatred to be in her heart. She growled, face red, mouth practically foaming. "Are you going to let me out?" she seethed.

"No."

"Then _never_." A sharp piece of wood somehow appeared in her hand, and she threw. It was so fast and sudden Steve didn't manage to duck fast enough, and the wood sliced his shoulder as he dropped downward. He grunted at the sharp sting, but it didn't hurt much. The wood had cut through his shirt and there was a two-inch long cut right along his shoulder, and blood started to trickle ever so slowly.

He sighed, irritated. If she was already so dangerous in this state, how would he keep her confined when she was at her best?

* * *

Katrina lied back, satisfied with the results. She didn't hurt him much, but even the smallest amount of pain from him gave her joy. She stared at the blood running down his arm, and her mind went elsewhere, all her senses drowning out. She watched the liquid—deep, red, _rich_ , and her mind was filled with searing warmth that made her tingle all over. The red overtook her, overcame her, rendered her helpless until she was up in the air and in a whirlpool of thoughts and feelings and emotions and all she wanted to do was hurt— _hurt—_

She imagined her dagger slicing his throat, that bright red running down her fingers.

Blood.

Hurt.

Red.

Dagger.

She was yanked back into reality when she was literally yanked up by her shirt quite harshly, finding herself staring into the Captain's face. She spit.

"I don't think you quite _understand_ the situation you're in." The Captain gave her another yank and if it weren't for her aching arms, she would decked him in the face. "I am not your friend, I am not here to help you, and I am not here to play games, _do you understand_?" Katrina rolled her eyes, a rather bad move on her part. His voice was low and chilling. "You have done a very, very _bad thing_ , and I promise, if you escape, if you want to play mind games, if you want to play _chase_ ," he yanked her once more until he was in her face, his eyes colder than steel, his mouth a twisted snarl, until he was whispering, his voice grating and raspy. "If you need time, girl, I will _make time_."

For the first time, Katrina genuinely considered that he might actually kill her.

That didn't mean she was scared. Honestly, it was the concept of death that never really scared her. Sometimes, in the deepest, darkest part of her heart, she welcomed it.

Despite her wanting to be as far away from him as possible, she leaned in, her face hardening, baring her teeth. "If you think you can catch me in a game of _chase_ ," she spit, her words hot. "You'll be playing with yourself. If you think you can outsmart me, then you should know that this is _my_ arena, not y _ours_." Slowly, despite every fiber of her body burning and screaming out in pain, she stood up, dark, matted hair sweeping across her eyes. She stared him in the eye, a challenge. "You think you're better than me?" She laughed, a low rumble erupting from her twisted mouth. "I am _better_ , I am _faster,_ I am _smarter_ , and if you think you can order me by using intimidation, let me tell you that your fake, _disgusting_ serum can't even come close to doing what I have done." She made chilling eye contact with him, and whispered, "Captain, you can fool yourself and believe that you have the reins, but this game you think I'm playing?" She smiled. "I'm not playing a game, Captain. The world _is_ my game, and you're just living in it."

* * *

Steve didn't enter the cabin yet. He was still pretty shaken up from that previous encounter. He didn't even notice his unmanaged cut, which, at this point, had dried up.

 _The world is my game, and you're just living in it._

It wasn't the statement itself that was scary, it was the fact that she genuinely believed it to be true. Steve wanted to know her, figure out what she'd done to people, explore every detail of her past. Something about her intrigued Steve so bad to the point where he wanted to stuff her in a lab and dissect her brain.

Steve knew there were evil people in the world. He'd experienced a war against them first-hand. He swallowed nervously, his stomach flipping, his hands twitching, not wanting to relive the memories of Nazi-Germany once again. The nightmares were already enough.

So Steve wanted to believe she was evil. He wanted to believe that the nasty sentences she construed and the chilling edge to her voice and the cutting coldness in her eyes were rooted from that evil force in the world that certain people were just born with. He wanted to believe it. It would make his job so much easier.

But he couldn't.

Because something just wasn't right.

There was something off about the whole situation. Her words had menace but at the same time were dull sounding…like they were scripted. Her voice, at times, sounded bored, forced. Her cold eyes seemed blank. Steve didn't understand. To any person she would seem scary, threatening, menacing, but looking back, Steve realized that something about the way she presented herself didn't seem normal. Maybe he picked up on it because he'd actually met genuinely evil people, and they did _not_ act the way she did. He did not get the feeling around her that he did with them.

The feeling of…what was it? What was that feeling one gets when they were around someone with a complete lack of empathy and morals—a lack of a soul? Because that wasn't the feeling Steve got from her.

Steve wanted to know what it was.

He was determined to find out.


End file.
